


i'll be the one you won't forget

by spiekiel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pack Feels, Protective Derek, Protective Pack, a night on the town, stiles is all drugged up, too much glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiekiel/pseuds/spiekiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek answers the phone.  "Argent," he grumbles warningly.</p>
<p>"I know," Allison says, "you have that whole rule about 'no calling past ten o'clock unless someone is dead or dying', but - "</p>
<p>"What do you want?"</p>
<p>It sounds like Allison's out somewhere, the  beat of base-driven club music slamming in the background.  "Someone tried to roofie the pack.  We, uh -  sort of lost Stiles."</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll be the one you won't forget

**Author's Note:**

> much ke$ha was listened to in the writing of this fic. sorry

 

"Who's dying?"

 

"Uh," Allison's voice is tinny through the beat-up speaker in Derek's beat-up phone, "nobody, but - "

 

Derek hangs up.He drops his phone on the bedside table and rolls back over in bed, wrapping an arm around his pillow to push it under his head.Moonlight cuts across his face, but it doesn't bother him, and he's nearly back to sleep by the time his phone rings again.

 

He breathes out hard against the matress.Rolls over again and taps the illuminated screen of his phone to answer it, then holds it to his ear."Argent," he grumbles warningly.

 

"I know," Allison says, "you have that whole rule about 'no calling past ten o'clock unless someone is dead or dying', but - "

 

"What do you want?"

 

It sounds like Allison's out somewhere, the chest-deep beat of base-driven club music slamming behind her voice."Someone tried to roofie the pack."

 

Derek sits up a little in bed, more confused than concerned."You got them?"

 

Allison snorts."Of course," she says, and he's still trying to wrap his head around having a hunter as a pack member, but he does admire her blasé professionalism."What kind of idiot tries to drug a bunch of werewolves, anyways? They can smell it from a mile away."

 

Derek is actively resisting the urge to drift back to sleep, running a hand over his close-cropped beard."You'd better have a damn good reason for waking me."

 

"Yeah," Allison says, "they went for the whole pack, so - I wasn't drinking, but Stiles and Lydia were, and neither of them have super-sniffers, so they were out for the count pretty quickly - "

 

Derek's eyes slide closed."High teenagers," he says groggily."What else is new? Why can't you deal with this on your own?"

 

" - and Jackson took Lydia home right away, but we sort of ... lost track of Stiles."

 

Derek sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed."You lost Stiles," he repeats flatly.

 

"Before you ask, we tried calling him, and Scott and Isaac are out right now trying to pick up his scent, or something like that, and I'm manning the rave in case he comes back, but he could be anywhere by now - "

 

Derek stands."Where are you?"He's holding his phone to his ear with one hand, using his other to wriggle into his jeans from the day before, the cement floors cold under his feet.  

 

"Downtown," Allison answers quickly."Hill street, just off Main.The building that used to be a Bertucci's."

 

Derek thumbs the button on his pants and steps into his boots, not bothering with socks."I know the place.I can be there in ten."

 

He hangs up without waiting for her response, and tries to breathe evenly through his nose to try to tamp down his escalated heart beat, because his human is missing and there's something in the bottom of his gut and the back of his mind telling him to just _run_ until he finds him.  

 

&

 

Allison steps up to the edge of the sidewalk as he rolls up outside the old Bertucci's in the Camaro.He rolls the window down, and she leans in through the window.She's got more make up than usual on, and half her hair is done up in cornrows and glittered, similar to her barely-covered chest.

 

Derek can hear the overpowering bass music pounding from inside, and if the people pouring in and out of the building's entrance are any indication, the party is still in full swing.He has a strong inclination to go back to his nice, quiet bed, but he knows he won't be able to until he's got Stiles with him.  

 

"No luck," Allison says."Isaac has done a sweep of everything within a mile-radius, and Scott is running around places he and Stiles have been before, but nothing yet."  

 

Derek eyes the doors of the building."You're sure he's not in there?"

 

"I've been looking for him for two hours in that building," Allison drones, like she's had this conversation."I went in the men's bathroom, several times.No Stiles."

 

"Did he drive here?"

 

Allison shakes her head."Scott drove him, and his car's still in the lot."

 

Derek flexes his hands on the steering wheel, anxiety creeping its way up the back of his neck like the light from the street lamp outside, diluting the moon.He puts the car in drive."Call me if you find anything."

 

Allison grabs onto the side of the window, as if she could hold the car back from pulling away from the curb."Uh, one more thing," she says, nervously.Derek raises an eyebrow - he doesn't appreciate it when people manhandle his Camaro.  

 

Allison tucks her hair behind her ear, biting her lip."He wasn't exactly - uh - _fully-clothed_ when we last saw him."  

 

Derek fixes her with a scathing look, and she has the sense to look sheepish."So, to recap," he says, and the anger bubbling just under the surface of his voice could burn an icicle, "Stiles got roofied, and now is wandering around the city in the middle of the night half-naked, alone?"

 

Allison swallows."That's about the shape of it, yeah."

 

It's a good thing that Beacon Hills doesn't have much of a night life, because if there were more traffic on the road Derek's fairly certain he would have been in an accident by now, at the speed he's going.He can't decide whether the thumping in his ears every time he turns a corner is a residual club beat or his own heart.

 

He keeps holding his breath, expecting to see Stiles on every block, his laffy-taffy face revealed by the Camaro's headlights, but so far there's been nothing - a few suspicious-looking gang banger types in dark hoodies that have only made Derek drive faster, not really knowing where he's going, only that he needs to get there _now_.  

 

His protect-the-pack instinct is clawing at his mind, and he can hardly focus on driving, because he's got nothing to manifest the feeling in, no immediate danger that he can beat down with his fists.He's wound so tight he nearly hurls his phone when it rings in the cup holder.

 

As it is, he manages to answer it."Argent?"

 

"No, Scott," is the voice on the other line."I called Danny, and he did a computer geek thing and tracked Stiles' phone or something - "

 

Derek growls for real, the sound tearing at the back of his throat." _Where_ , Scott?"

 

Scott's not his beta, and he's not exactly pack, but he's smart enough to answer succinctly."Edge of town.Madison street."  

 

Derek hangs up, his speedometer pushing ninety.  

 

&

 

He spots Stiles from a good quarter mile away.  

 

As the Camaro approaches he can make out more of what exactly Stiles _isn't_ wearing, and he wishes suddenly that he'd had the foresight to slip on his leather jacket before rushing from the loft, because then he could cover him up, get his scent all over him and keep the rest of the world _off -_

 

Stiles apparently got a faceful of that same ridiculous glitter body paint that Allison had on, because it's splashed across his neck, chest, and shoulders - all of which are bare - glinting in the Camaro's headlights.He's got a pair of jeans on that Derek would normally take the time to appreciate, given how beautifully they hug his ass, but as it is there are more pressing issues - 

 

There are two sleazy looking men standing way too close to him, positioned so Stiles is bracketed back against the brick wall, swaying uncertainly on his feet.They're both way bigger than him - thick but not muscled, Derek assesses, easy to take down for him, just not for Stiles, who is looking woozier by the second, looking like he knows the second he bolts they'll grab him.

 

Derek screeches to a stop at the curb next to them just in time to see one of the guys put his hand on Stiles' chest.He surges out of the car door and up onto the sidewalk in one movement, and he can feel his brow warp slightly as he wolfs out.  

 

The guy goes down in a second flat with a fist to his jaw and a knee to his ribcage, and his accomplice bolts before Derek can break his face.  

 

He doesn't even consider following, not when Stiles is looking at him with wide eyes and trembling hands, his cheeks flushed."Der - " he says haltingly, clearly having trouble managing his tongue.

 

Derek tries to look at him sternly, but he can feel the wolf fading away."Get in the car, Stiles," he orders."We're going home."

 

Stiles walks unsteaily around the front of the Camaro and disappears in the passenger side, slamming the door weakly behind him.Derek gives the bastard still writhing on the ground at his feet a swift kick to the gut before he joins him.

 

Stiles' smell is already permeating the interior of the car as Derek pulls away from the curb, and it calms some of the roiling in his stomach to have his arm resting against Stiles' on the center console.He glances over, and Stiles is nodding off against the headrest, his eyelids at half-mast under what may or may not be a layer of eyeliner, his eyes unfocused on the road.Derek wants to pull him into his lap, wrap himself around him until he's back to a hundred percent, until the smell of the rave - of alcohol and drugs and sweaty humans - is off him.

 

One eye on the road, even though he's driving a more conservative fifty miles an hour, he pulls out his phone and sends Scott a text: _Got him._  

 

"Thanks," Stiles says suddenly, his voice slurred and lacking its usual fervor."Those guys thought I was a hooker."

 

Something re-tightens in Derek's chest, and he shifts his arm so it's blanketing Stiles', his fingers in between Stiles' thinner ones."You're safe," he says lowly.  

 

Stiles lets his head fall back against the seat, his shoulders slumping.His mouth falls open, like he doesn't have the strength to keep it closed.He's getting glitter all over Derek's upholstery, and it's pushing three in the morning.

 

Derek has Stiles, so he points the Camaro towards home.

 

&

 

He has to half-carry, half-drag him inside, but eventually he gets Stiles up the stairs into the loft.Stiles is still out of it, his face pressed into Derek's neck, his breath sloughing warm against Derek's skin, one of his arms flung limply around Derek's waist, thumb stuck in the band of his jeans.

 

Derek does his best not to let go of Stiles as he lowers him into bed, kicks off his boots and follows him on top of the covers.One of his arms is pinned under Stiles' torso, and his ankles have somehow gotten tangled in Stiles' feet already.They're sharing a pillow, and Stiles is shivering slightly, so Derek gathers him closer, pulls a blanket up over him and tucks his chin on top of Stiles' head, breathing deeply as their smells mix.

 

The anxiety has finally melted out of his spine, his heartbeat has slowed to a normal pace, mostly because it's thumping against Stiles' palm.  

 

Stiles' lips move slowly against Derek's shoulder."No more raves," Derek can make out, despite the fact that Stiles' voice still seems quiet, even in the silence of the loft."Too many crazy, sub-par hunters hanging around raves these days."

 

Derek hums in agreement.He tilts his head, presses his lips to the top of Stiles' head.Stiles wiggles, his limbs like liquid, and somehow finds the space to burrow closer into Derek."Thanks for coming for me," Stiles continues, because apparently he can't even shut off his mouth _now._ "Even though I wan't dying."

 

"You're pack," Derek answers shortly, only because he feels like Stiles is looking for a reply.  

 

"You too," Stiles says.  

 

Derek moves away from him as much as possible while they're sharing the same pillow, to look him in his mostly-closed eyes.They're caked with glitter, and Derek runs his thumbs under them until the messy eyeliner is gone enough that he can see the crinkles at their corners.Derek thinks maybe Stiles is squinting a little in the moonlight.

 

He kisses him.Stiles' mouth is slack, lips sloppy, and Derek can taste the alcohol on his tongue as Stiles pushes past his teeth, one hand tightening feebly on Derek's back.Derek presses his face in close, can feel Stiles' eyelashes against his cheeks, the line of Stiles' teeth against his lower lip.Stiles' lips move slowly against his, and Derek wants more than anything to hold him down and make him forget, make him forget his own name, forget everything but _pack, mate -_

 

He pulls away, thumb still pressed to Stiles' cheekbone, tangled now in the sheets as well as in Stiles' gangly limbs.He lets his head drop on the pillow, forehead against Stiles', and closes his eyes.

 

"Go to sleep," he says.  

 

"Derek," Stiles says, hand still digging against Derek's back, but he falls silent after that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to point out any mistakes. there probably are some, since I wrote this at 2 am.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [High as a Kite and Just as Brite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738758) by [TheMadKatter13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKatter13/pseuds/TheMadKatter13)




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